Sept 13, 2026 - Matthew 18:21-35 - Proper 19

Forgiving people is hard work. As a pastor, I pronounce forgiveness on a weekly basis, if not more. But that’s a bit different. Pronouncing forgiveness for all of the various sins you’ve committed doesn’t mean any of those sins were actually done to me. The thoughts, words, and deeds that caused you to sin probably involved covered all manner of transgressions against the various commandments, but I probably only factor into a tiny fraction of them. And, of those, I’m probably not even aware of most of them. Which isn’t to say I’m a super great guy and just naturally radiate holy and pious living wherever I go, but more that I’m just not as big a part of your life as other people. Your family, friends, and maybe even complete strangers, fill more of your hours in a week than I do.

Still, there are those times when someone has wronged me and I know it and we have to have a frank discussion about it. Those discussions are already hard enough. Few people enjoy that kind of conflict. No one enjoys being told they’re wrong, that their actions have hurt someone and they are responsible for the damage that’s been done. It’s harder still to go into those kinds of conversations knowing that the goal is not to beat the other person down into the dirt, heaping humiliation and shame on them for their sin. The goal is reconciliation, to bridge the gap and to move forward together. It’s hard to not be angry and to let that anger rule the day, to let the anger curse the wrongdoer and drive him away. It’s hard to see that there is a better way. It’s harder still, to put the anger away. Not all of those conversations end well. Many times, when confronted with your sin, you fight back. Shame rises within you and you look for excuses, to redirect blame, to pass the responsibility on to someone else. If you ever need to demonstrate how humanity hasn’t changed through the ages, all you need to do is point to how we deal with sin and shame.

It’s hard to say those words. “I forgive you.” Three little words that just don’t want to come out. It’s like your own mouth fights back and you have to force yourself to get the words out. The words are so hard because they come with responsibility. They come with expectations. If you say the words but don’t mean them, then you become the liar. Now you’re the one sinning. Now you’re the one whose actions are hurting others. You can’t just say them. You have to mean them. You have to act like that person who did that hurtful thing no longer has that hurtful thing hanging over them. That doesn’t always mean the situation is perfect. Actions have consequences that can’t always be undone, nor should they be. Crimes come with earthly punishments. Hurt inflicted on another may alter a relationship in a way that can’t just be put back the way it was. Still, that black mark is gone and you have to continue on.

Having to let that pain go. Having to let the anger go. Having to let go of the weapon you have, the justification you have to seek restitution for what has been done to you. Having to give it all up and never getting it back.

Peter’s question is perfectly reasonable. How many times can someone wrong me and I be expected to accept their apology? How many times must I have to set aside my perfectly reasonable desire for retribution? How many times must I suffer injustice and have nothing to show for it? Peter’s suggestion seems reasonable, if perhaps already a bit high. Jesus’ answer sounds absurd, and that’s just taking it literally. When we consider that Jesus is being rhetorical and that the real answer is something more like, “As many times as is necessary,” the whole situation is a bit baffling.

How can anyone be expected to do that? Why should anyone be expected to do that? To suffer the same hurt, the same grief, the same anguish over and over and over again, only to have the person who inflicted it to apologize and then to expect us to let that black mark fall away, that goes well beyond any reasonable expectations.

After all, we know a thing or two about people. We know there are people who just can’t help themselves. Some people are predisposed to anger or greed. Some people gossip and spread rumors, whether true or untrue. Some people can’t help but berate others, tear them down, disparage them, and insult them. Some people seem to delight in causing pain in others, whether physical, mental, or emotional. If someone keeps doing something to you, over and over again, at some point they need to get the message. They need to be forced to stop their abusive ways. They need to know there are consequences to their actions.

More than that, how can I be expected to just keep letting it happen? No one gets to just keep on hurting people. No one gets to just keep on hurting me. At some point, I get to act. I get to return to them what they’ve done to me. I get to show them what it’s like to be on the receiving end of all of this. At some point I get to say, “No!”

As always, we put ourselves first. We want to be in charge. We want to feel vindicated. We want others to know we are more important and that they can’t and won’t get away with the injustices they’ve inflicted upon us. Peter ponders these kinds of questions as he brings the matter up to Jesus. In response to this, Jesus tells a story.

In Jesus’ usual fashion, this is isn’t just some random anecdote. Jesus is directing our attention to how things work in God’s kingdom. The way God works is foreign to us. We know how the world works and what to expect from it, but this is different. God rules in ways that don’t fit the expectations we have and so he has to explain it to us.

A king and a servant. An easily understood relationship. The world is full of such relationships. One is in a position of authority and the other works at his behest. The 4th Commandment details how these relationships should be handled, but that doesn’t appear to be what has happened here. The servant has abused his liege’s trust, squandered his money and left the king in a tough spot. How bad is it? Well, a denarius was the usual pay for a day’s work for most labor intensive jobs. A rough estimate is about 6000 denarii in a talent, putting the total bill at around 60,000,000 denarii or sixty million days’ worth of work to pay off the debt, assuming no interest or other fees or penalties. Some commentators put the bill as greater than the yearly income for the entire Roman Empire, all laid at the feet of one man.

This man has a problem. Why was he allowed to create such a problem? Who gave him the ability to squander all of this money in this way? We aren’t told. That isn’t the issue here. The damage is done. What isn’t said is exactly how extensive this damage is. A debt like this is going to affect more than just the king. It will affect people everywhere. There won’t be a person this servant meets who won’t be affected by his debt. This is the kind of debt that would bankrupt an entire prosperous empire.

As Jesus explains, the servant begs for mercy. The king has no reason to grant mercy to such an irresponsible and destructive servant, but he does. Here again, there is a detail that is left unsaid. The debt may be forgiven, but it doesn’t simply go away. The problem can’t be fixed just by crossing out that line item on the ledger. The money is still missing. By forgiving the debt, the king is absorbing that debt himself. He is taking responsibility for it instead. The debt still gets paid. It just gets paid by someone else.

Looking then at the second servant, the actions of the first do feel pretty irrational. 100 denarii debt? 100 days’ wages are as nothing compared to sixty million. What right does he have to get upset at another who owes him? 100 days’ wages are not nothing. 3 months’ salary for most people is a pretty reasonable amount, but by comparison, he should extend similar mercy to someone who owes him.

Seen together, the actions are very unreasonable. But, we don’t treat the servant’s actions as unreasonable. We don’t pass anything along because we don’t feel like we’ve been given anything in the first place. This debt that we supposedly owe isn’t written on any official piece of paper. There’s no “past due” notice showing up in the mail. The bank isn’t calling to foreclose on the house or repossess the car. This debt is just out there somewhere. So, when someone like me stands up and says your sins are forgiven and the debt is paid it feels a little like nothing changed because you didn’t really have a debt to begin with. If you were to continue on like that, ignoring the warnings, it would be a mistake you only found out too late.

When Jesus describes the debt owed by the first servant, it sounds like hyperbole, but it isn’t. That is the debt that we owe and we have no means to pay it. The debt must be paid and you’re on the hook for it. The debt won’t be paid off in 164,000 years like that of the servant here. No, your debt is much worse. You’ll be paying that debt every day forever. Now, you can march ahead, confident that you can deal with the problem entirely on your own and take whatever consequences come your way, or you listen to what Jesus is telling us about the character of the king to whom we owe our debt.

The king is just but the king is also merciful. The king is willing to forgive. The king is willing to forgive even though the debt must still be paid. The king is willing to forgive even though he must pay the debt himself, and so he does. Life for life. Hell for hell. The whole debt is placed on his shoulders instead.

It may not seem like it as we walk through life and don’t see any immediate consequences of our deeds here, but one day that bill will come due and the question will be “who is going to pay it?” You can’t demand that someone else pay it. You’ve earned it. Earned with years of snide comments and backstabbing remarks. Earned it with smug disrespect for those in authority over you. Earned it with petty jealousy and callous disgust. It’s a bill long enough that it’ll take quite some time to read every line item on the list before you can even get around to the eternity it will take to pay it off.

But the king is merciful. It’s only when we truly recognize what we owe that we recognize what was given to pay the debt for us. It’s only when we see what we’ve been given that we recognize what a gift it is to be able to share that, even in just small ways, with someone else. Forgiving a single slight someone has inflicted on us may not seem like a big thing, but it reflects the bigger forgiveness we’ve been given by Christ when he paid our debt with his own blood. Forgiving others is to share the gospel, the good news that, while there is a debt, that debt has already been paid. It has been paid for everyone for all time.

The king is merciful, and so we are merciful. We have received mercy, and so we share that same mercy. The king has forgiven, and so we forgive. What better way to show gratitude for what we’ve been given than by reflecting that same character to others?